


You Caught Me

by AustenlySummers



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Caught in the Act, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Eventual Smut, Kink Exploration, M/M, Masturbation, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustenlySummers/pseuds/AustenlySummers
Summary: John catches his boyfriend in a *ahem* compromising position.Sherlock has been baiting the poor man all along.Through a series of emotional conversations, sexual exploration, and lots of learning about and between the two of them, John and Sherlock try to prove that their love truly conquers all (even though Sherlock refuses to address such an outdated sentiment).





	1. Chapter 1

      It wasn't a surprise to wake up to an empty bed.  In fact, John had come to expect it.  He woke alone only to find Sherlock tinkering away in the kitchen (never with breakfast or coffee or anything useful, and usually with enough noise to wake him in the first place) or pacing in the sitting room and muttering into steepled fingers as he worked through a case they still hadn't solved.  This morning the flat was suspiciously quiet.  John didn't think much of it at first.  Perhaps Greg had contacted him in the early hours and offered a case, and Sherlock being Sherlock had run out without bothering to wake him.  Surely he would have woken with the loss of Sherlock's warm form cuddled up against him.  Or perhaps the sleep deprived detective had passed out on the couch.  The visual of a sleep-mussed and bleary eyed Sherlock curled up on the couch was a picture too pretty for John to pass up.  With a yawn, the ex-army doctor rolled out of bed, intent on starting his usual morning routine.  

      His feet had hardly touched the ground when the silence of the flat was broken by a low moan.  John stopped in his tracks.  Silence met his ears once more.  After several minutes of quiet, John wondered if it had been his sleep-dulled senses playing some sort of auditory trick on him.  It could have been the pipes.  But pipes certainly didn't sound like that.  The noise appeared to emanate from further down the hall.  Ignoring the bed sheets -- which John religiously tucked in with military precision each morning -- John crept from the bedroom to make his way down to the bathroom.  Halfway to his destination, another low moan echoed from the partially closed bathroom door.  John held his breath in anticipation.  That noise certainly didn't come from pipes.

      He knew, logically, that he should not be peeking.  But for Christ Sake, it was Sherlock!  In their almost ten months as an official couple, Sherlock had never once expressed a desire or interest in sex.  While it had never been an issue for John (Lord knows he loved the man too much to leave him over something like sex), he had convinced himself that Sherlock simply didn't do things like that.  It was alarming to say the least, listening to Sherlock's moans from behind the bathroom door.  And Christ his moans were beautiful.  

      Another moan pulled John from his thoughts.  He understood, again logically, that his own mind was filling in the blanks.  There was a fine line between moans of pain and moans of passion.  What if Sherlock was hurt?  What if he'd gone out while John was sleeping?  What if he'd relapsed?  He could have overdosed and John would be responsible for sitting outside the only partially closed door listening to what he assumed was his flatmate (boyfriend) jacking off in the bathroom.  And god, but wouldn't that be a bloody horrible headline.  No, John had to make sure Sherlock was okay.  Not dead, not dying, just doing that one thing Sherlock Holmes did not do.  

      Curiosity, intrigue, and concern ultimately got the better of him.  With bated breath, John slunk forward to peek through the crack of the bathroom door.  His suspicions were quickly confirmed.  There, crouching over the pristine bathroom tiles, was Sherlock Holmes fucking himself on a (from what John could see) realistic pink plastic dildo.  The detective's back was to John, but by the way Sherlock's arm was moving in coordination with his stuttering hips, John didn't need to see to understand what was happening.  Sherlock sat down hard, letting out a sharp cry he quickly stifled with his free hand.  That was John's cue that he had seen too much.  He quickly pulled away, letting out a soft breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  That... that was a lot to take in at this time of the morning.  Or at any time of the day, really.  Without a sound, John turned and crept back down the hall until he reached the safety of his own room. Once safe inside those four walls, John took a minute to try and process what he'd just witnessed.  Sherlock, his Sherlock, the one who didn't return kisses, who tugged his hand away in public, who only just tolerated his embraces, was currently fucking himself on a veiny pink dildo in their shared bathroom.  It was so out of character it was intriguing.  Then again, this was the man who informed John that relationships "weren't his area" only to agree to a public relationship with John years later.  Perhaps people changed.  Perhaps Sherlock's opinion about sex had changed.  Then why, John wondered, was Sherlock so shut out about sex?  He always avoided the subject whenever John tried to bring it up.  Eventually he stopped trying.  Maybe now, the question could be finally be answered.

      Despite the disruption to his usual morning routine, John tried to continue on as normal.  He tucked in the sheets on their bed, folded down the duvet, and pulled on a jumper before heading down to the kitchen to start coffee.  If there was ever a morning John needed to be caffeinated, that was this morning.  As he headed downstairs, John heard water running.  

      Ten minutes later, John was sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper.  He glanced up when he heard footsteps padding towards the kitchen.  A moment later, Sherlock appeared in the doorway, still damp from the shower and clad in his dressing gown.  John offered him a smile.  

      "Good morning, 'Lock.  Just made coffee.  Want a cup?"

      Sherlock only responded with a noncommittal hum.  Before John could question further, Sherlock shuffled to pour his own cup.  John watched him, finding it difficult to think of anything beyond the visual of his boyfriend with a pink eight inch cock wedged between his perfect arsecheeks.  Sherlock glanced up at him.  John quickly looked away, feeling as guilty as a schoolboy caught looking down the teacher's blouse.  He cleared his throat and stared hard at the paper in front of him, noting in a rather forced tone, "Have you seen this?  "Famous French portrait missing from Heir's estate"," John read.

      Sherlock was still staring at him, eyes settled in that calculated slit that he used when deducing people's darkest secrets.  John tried to ignore him, feeling less like Sherlock's boyfriend and more like one of the genius's specimens being picked apart under a microscope. 

      "Says here the original was replaced by a copy," John continued to read.  "Bet they could use a ha--"

      "We should talk about what you saw this morning," Sherlock interrupted.

      "S-Sorry...?" John choked out, only just managing to swallow a mouthful of coffee without choking.  

      "This morning.  In the bathroom.  We should talk about it."

      John gaped at him.  He'd been so quiet.  Had Sherlock seen him?  Heard him?  How did he know...?

      "Yes, I did notice you," Sherlock answered without hearing the question.  "And yes, I do understand your alarm."

      Alarm?  John folded the newspaper with a sigh.  He knew, Sherlock knew, and it seemed like there was no avoiding the conversation now.  "It was a bit... alarming, yes," John commented.  "But more so... confusing."

      "I was masturbating using a toy and--"

      "Yes, yes, I saw all that," John was quick to interrupt.  "I understand how.  I guess I'm more confused about why."

      "Why?" Sherlock repeated, eyebrows furrowing slightly.  

      "Yes, Sherlock.  Why?  You've never made any indication towards liking or wanting to participate in... innocent affection, let alone sex," John pointed out.  

  "Ah." Sherlock took a sip of his coffee.

   "I didn't think you masturbated."

   "I don't."

  "Obviously you do," John huffed.  

"Not often,"Sherlock corrected.

  John cocked his head at him.  "So why now?"

  "I wanted you to see."

  John blinked at that.  Of all of the answers Sherlock could have given, that was one John did not expect.  He stared for several minutes before prompting, "You... You wanted me to..."

  "Watch, yes," Sherlock finished. 

  John couldn't believe what he was hearing.  He only managed a confused, "Why...?" before Sherlock cut in again. 

"I've never participated in penetrative intercourse with a partner.  I was concerned about my performance so I've taken to practicing."

"Practicing..."

"With a toy, yes.  I've ordered one to mimic your size and shape, to gain the best experience while practicing."

"Jesus."

"And by using said toy I was hoping to gain enough skill and knowledge to be able to engage in such activities with you."

"And you wanted me to watch."

"I wanted you to catch me.  I wanted to see your reaction.  See if it aroused you."

"Of course it aroused me, Sherlock.  It's you.  You're beautiful."

Sherlock was silent, sparing himself a response by sipping his coffee.  John let out a sigh.  

"C'mere," he murmured, scooting his chair away from the table and holding out his arms for Sherlock.  Sherlock set down his mug and rounded the counter, soon settling into John's lap, hands resting on John's shoulders. John's own hands fell to Sherlock's hips.  "You could have told me," John noted softly.  "You could have shared your concerns.  I can help you."

"I didn't want you to think of me as stupid," Sherlock admitted.  "It was something I needed to do alone."

"Oh, Sherlock... I'll never think of you as stupid."

"I don't know that much about sex."

John smiled softly, eyes full of fondness as he leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his partner's forehead.  He told him, "I could teach you.  We can learn together."

"I don't want to--"

"Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare try to tell me you're a burden.  You're not a burden.  I want to teach you.  I want to learn new things with you.  I want to.  It's not any trouble.  I promise."

Sherlock was quiet for a long minute.  John could almost see the gears and cogs turning behind the detective's eyes.  

"We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," John assured him.  "But if at any point you want to try..."

"You'll let me?" Sherlock cut in.

"Of course," John answered with a nod.

There was brief hesitation before Sherlock murmured, "Thank you, John." 

"You're welcome."

He was lucky enough to steal a kiss before the detective slipped off his lap again. 

"So what's this thing about a stolen painting?" Sherlock asked as he went back to his coffee.  

"Missing," John corrected, which earned him a little look from the genius across the counter.  John unfolded the paper to find the article again.  "They've posted contact information," he informed.  

"Then let's give them a ring." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a present for John which opens a new thread of conversation and we exploration.

      A week had passed since the not-so accidental voyuerism of watching Sherlock wank in their shared bathroom.  Since their conversation over coffee, neither had mentioned or spoken of it further.  They'd spent the week chasing an art thief across London; Sherlock's masturbatory habits and the pink dildo were out of sight, out of mind.  It was only after the thief was caught and sent to booking at NSY when the topic came up again in the most unexpected of ways.  

      "Sherlock!" John called, struggling to prop open the door with three bags of groceries nested in his arms.  Sherlock had requested items for some future experiment (involving three heads of lettuce and a bag of sweet potatoes, which sounded more like ingredients for a stew than variables in an experiment) and why Sherlock couldn't go out himself was beyond John.

       "Sherlock!" John called again.

      "Coming!"

      John had just made it through the door when Sherlock came to help him, taking one of the bags and closing the door behind John.  Sherlock wore his coat and shoes.  John quirked and eyebrow in question.  

      "Where are you running off to?" John asked, somewhat peeved Sherlock couldn't have run his own errands if he was already headed out. 

      "Where _did_ I run off to," Sherlock corrected.  "I needed to get something."

      "Really? And you couldn't have picked up your own lettuce on the way?" John asked, setting his bags on the counter.  

      The third grocery bag joined the others.  "You had to get milk anyway," Sherlock argued.  "Besides, I wasn't headed in that direction."

      "Where did you go?" John wanted to know as he started unpacking the groceries. 

      Sherlock didn't offer a verbal reply, instead gesturing towards a discreet brown bag John hadn't noticed sitting on the kitchen table.  John paused halfway through opening the fridge.  Then he closed it again.

      "What's that?" he asked.

      "It's for us," Sherlock answered.  "You should open it."

      "For us..." Sherlock never got things for them.  Neither of them did now that John thought about it.  He walked over to the table and picked up the bag.  It was filled with bright blue tissue paper.  After a brief hesitation, John removed the paper to reveal the contents of the bag.  A gift box sat inside.

      "Open it," Sherlock prompted.

      John opened it.  Inside the small box, nestled in another bed of blue paper, laid a silver cock ring, a matching egg vibrator, and a discreet black remote.  The breath caught in John's throat.  He glanced back up at Sherlock.  The detective's face was tinged pink.  

      "Do you like them?" Sherlock asked. 

      "Yeah... God, yes." He reached in to remove the remote controller.  It fit perfectly in his palm.  "You want me to use this...?"

      "On me, yeah," Sherlock answered. 

      "Christ, do you know how hot that is, Sherlock?"

      "I have an idea," the detective answered.

      John shook his head -- almost in disbelief -- as he ran his thumb over the smooth buttons of the remote.  Using this on Sherlock... the implications were enough to have John's heart fluttering erratically.  He replaced the remote in it's bed of paper and placed the box on the table.  Then he turned back to his boyfriend.

      "You naughty, naughty man," John hummed, stalking back to Sherlock and winding his arms around the detective's trim waist.  

      Sherlock's slightly pinkened skin darkened to a shade of deep crimson.  He opened his mouth to speak but John pressed a finger to his lips.  

      "Just say _yes John_."

      "Yes, John."

      "Mm, lovely." John leaned in and kissed him.  "I love you, Sherlock."

      "I know."

      "Course you do." John pressed another kiss to his lips before letting Sherlock go.  "Was there a specific time and place you wanted to use those?" John asked, nodding towards the open box.  

      "I wanted to work up to it," Sherlock told his partner.  "A special treat once we're both comfortable..."

      John nodded in understanding.  

      "Is that alright?" Sherlock asked, sounding almost nervous.  

      John smiled.  "It's absolutely alright, Sherlock." He kissed Sherlock's jaw and noted, "That just means we get more time to explore."

      Sherlock glanced down at John.  "And you'll show me...?"

      John beamed up at him.  "I can't wait to show you, 'Lock." 

      


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John engage in some bodily exploration. Sexy times are on the horizon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading this work! It's good to see so many people enjoying the story and I have a lot planned for these two love birds. 
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments below! They fuel me.

      The box of toys sat closed on their dresser.  John left it there as a reminder for them both of what was to come, of how their relationship could evolve with communication and trust and exploration and _practice_.  Sherlock was always so clinical, so set on _knowing_ and _understanding_ and _planning_.  But some things could not be set up like an experiment.  Sex was one of those things. 

      "Where should I touch you?" Sherlock asked, gazing up at John skeptically.  

       The ex-soldier had Sherlock on his back, admiring his partner's pale complexion against the dark sheets.  

      "Touch me wherever you'd like.  Do what feels natural," John answered patiently.  

      "Nothing feels natural." 

      "You're too tense," John chided lightly. 

     "It feels strange..." Sherlock whined.

      "Would you like me to stop?" John glanced up from where he'd been pressing kisses to Sherlock's slender neck.  Concern colored his features.  

      A beat passed.  "No," Sherlock decided. 

      John offered him a somewhat sympathetic smile.  "Just lay back.  I'll take care of you."

      "But I should be doing something..."

      "Put your hands on my back, Sherlock." 

      Sherlock did so.  John went back to kissing.  It wasn't hard to tell that Sherlock wasn't entirely comfortable.  The younger man was stiff, unmoving, obviously unsure of what to do or how to reciprocate.  After a few moments, John pulled away.  

      "Not good?" Sherlock asked.  He sounded hurt.  Distressed, almost.  It was almost painful to see how unsure of himself the usually cocky detective was.

      "I'm going to try something different," John amended.  "Shirt off."

      The order was met with a brief look of confusion; nonetheless, Sherlock did as asked.  Dark fabric fell away from his chest to reveal the beautifully pale expanse of skin beneath.  John couldn't help but touch. He ran his hands from Sherlock's hips to his shoulders, completely in awe of how mesmerizing his boyfriend appeared -- not just now, and not just like this, but always.  

      John had seen Sherlock naked of course, but he rarely got to touch.  His fingers caressed the impossibly smooth skin beneath them.  "Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

      Sherlock nodded.

      "Relax," John breathed, sliding up to straddle Sherlock's lap.  He kissed Sherlock, one hand moving to cup the back of Sherlock's head, tugging him up slightly.  Sherlock stiffened, but as John's fingers gently carded through his curls, Sherlock's body went slack.  

      "There you go," John murmured against his boyfriend's lips.  "Just relax.  Let me..." He kissed him again, softly at first, letting Sherlock sink into the feeling before gently pushing for more.  That gentle push came in the form of John running his tongue along the seam of Sherlock's lips.  Sherlock parted them for him, offering John in deeper.  The man went willingly.  

      The kiss was hesitant, sloppy and wet.  Sherlock followed John's lead, trying to mimic his actions, while John silently urged Sherlock to explore.  Their tongues bumped and entwined in almost shy maneuvers.  Gradually, John let the kiss taper off and leaned back, gauging Sherlock's reaction.  The detective was flushed, lips swollen, pupils blown with desire.  John ran a hand up Sherlock's side, thumbing over an exposed nipple.  Sherlock gasped.  John considered it a victory to draw such a noise from his partner's lips.  And he wanted more.  

      "That feel good?" John murmured, thumb caressing Sherlock's chest, just out of reach of that pebbled bud.  

      Sherlock nodded once.  Dark curls fell across his forehead. 

      "Want me to do it again?" 

      "Yes, please."

      John smirked.  Sherlock rarely ever said please.  He let his hands stroke down Sherlock's sides before working back up.  The pads of his thumbs circled the sensitive nipples.  Sherlock let out a breathy moan.  

      "Want me to show you something that feels even better, Sherlock?" 

      Sherlock nodded eagerly.  John bent to latch onto one of Sherlock's nipples, licking and sucking eagerly.  Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, resulting in a breathy gasp bordering on cry.  

      "Too much?" John checked in.

      Sherlock shook his head, moving to settle his hand on the back of John's neck, a silent urge to continue.  John grinned.  Sherlock was adorable.  While one hand toyed with one nipple, John worked the other with his tongue.  The assault drew more moans and gasps from his lover's lips.  Deciding to test Sherlock's limits, John gently nipped the sensitive bud of nerves between his lips.

      Sherlock let out a startled yelp and hastened to cover the tender nubs with his palms.  John immediately pulled back.  "Sorry..." John murmured sheepishly.  "Did I hurt you?"

      Sherlock had already pulled on his shirt and was buttoning it up again.

      "No," was the curt reply. 

      The mood was ruined now.   _Good going, Watson_.  John watched the lanky detective climb out of bed and start towards the door.  

      "Uh, Sherlock?" John called after his boyfriend.

      Sherlock paused in the doorway, back to his partner.  "Hm?"

      "I love you."

      "... I love you too, John."

      And with that he was gone.  John flopped onto bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering briefly if he'd ever get through to his skittish lover.  

      

**Author's Note:**

> Look forward to Chapter Three later on in the week!  
> Please leave kudos and/or comments. As an author, I love getting your feedback on my work. Thank you!


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